


The Scientist of Science

by Sorida



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Canon-Typical Humor, Canon-Typical Violence, Carlos is Home, Cecil and Normal Do Not Go Together, Cecil is a Dork, Khoshekh is Important, M/M, No Typical Night Vale Weirdness, Normal Night Vale, Set in the not too distant future, Typical Night Vale Weirdness, Welcome to Freaking Night Vale, guys i'm running out of tags, maybe some existentialism, shameless parody, um..., with a dash of hopelessness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-09
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-20 11:34:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2427200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorida/pseuds/Sorida
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Night Vale experiences an abnormally abnormal earthquake, Cecil is whisked away into a world of normality, figures in hoodies, and endless debt. To return Night Vale to its former (and horrifying) weirdness, Cecil must find the rumored Scientist of Science in order to restore the balance of the universe. Of course, weirdness or not, this is Night Vale and no journey is an easy one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Part With Exposition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So an Internet buddy on Tumblr (caycharming) posted a while ago about having a fic where Cecil is placed in an entirely normal Night Vale a la Wizard of Oz type disaster and him kinda running around like a chicken with its head cut off. I'm about to do that right now.

All things considered, tonight's broadcast was going very smoothly. The news story of the day, a sentient fireball that didn't so much set things on fire as it did grant people uncontrollable pyrokinesis, wrapped itself up quite nicely right before the Weather began to play. Station Management had barely found any reason to censor him, even with all of the talk about Carlos' latest experiment and how Cecil actually managed to help without making anything spontaneously combust or implode. Steve Carlsberg's call to the station had been interrupted when he was suddenly granted pyrokinesis and, fortunately, accidentally set his phone on fire as well as other miscellaneous items around his home. Cecil somehow managed to hold his snicker back until the Weather.

And to top it all off, he and Carlos had a super special date coming up, celebrating Carlos' return from the other desert dimension. Of course on his initial return night, the two of them had spent the time crying and kissing and explaining things to one another. There may have been some arguing and pouting the next day, but it was quickly resolved and taken over by their collective joy of being together once again. They kind of let that drown out everything else that had happened and the events leading up to and during Carlos' return because hey, happiness came with a price. But that's a story for another day and it's definitely one this writer doesn't know, so pipe down.

Anyways, back to the date.

Cecil had finally managed to book a reservation without calling in a favor from Earl Harlan and tonight was the night. He and Carlos were going to have a lovely dinner and then they were going to walk around Night Vale and maybe if they were lucky, something or someone would need science-related help and they would both courageously (Carlos more so than himself) swoop in and save the day. And then they'd go back to their apartment, which was finally housing two people again, and they'd cuddle and watch movies and maybe take it a bit farther than cuddling...

Oh, he just couldn't wait! As the Weather faded out, Cecil saw Intern Riley give the signal. He flipped a switch, grabbed his mic, and breathed.

"Well listeners, unlike usual, nothing life-threatening or strange happened during the Weather," he explained, idly playing with the cord of his headphones. "We were all simply being. You, listening to your radios, were being. I, in my recording booth, was being. The scientists in their lab...they were simply being. We all get swept up in making a being for ourselves. We convince ourselves that we must do something with our lives in order to make them meaningful. And we do. But sometimes, listeners, it's ok to just simply...be, to exist, to remind ourselves the importance of recognizing our existence and remembering why we constantly try to make the most of it." He paused for effect, knowing that his listeners were grasping onto every word that poured from his mouth. They were content for the time being and that was good. After all, that was his job as The Voice.

He opened his mouth to sign off, but before he could get the first "goodnight" into audible existence, the ground began to shake. With a puzzled frown, he looked around his booth. The lights were flickering and all the things on his desk were starting to rattle. He caught Intern Riley's eye, noticing how they looked just as confused as he probably did. Unsure of what to do, he spoke to Night Vale.

"Uh, listeners," he began, eyeing the silent phone lying on his desk. "It appears that we are experiencing an earthquake." At the mention of the government mandated phenomenon, Station Management howled. Feedback filtered through his headphones at an ear-shattering volume and Cecil struggled to remove his headphones. With one hand massaging an ear and the other firmly gripping his mic, he continued. "I don't believe there was one scheduled on the Community Calendar and we don't need to expunge any noxious gases this year..." He trailed off as his phone finally lit up. He didn't even have to read the name to know who was calling.

"Carlos!" he exclaimed happily. "Carlos, what is going on?"

"Cecil?" His boyfriend's voice flowed through the tinny speaker. "You're still broadcasting." It wasn't a question. Cecil rolled his eyes.

"Of course I am," he replied in a teasing manner. "I'm a professional. I don't just stop because tectonic plates start to have a hissy fit." He regretted those words as soon as they were out of his mouth. Crap, the microphone was right in front of him and...yep, there was the envelop with the Sheriff's Secret Police's seal on it. And he'd been doing so well for the past five months! Ugh, re-education was such a bother.

"Cecil, you need to take cover," Carlos warned. To his credit, he was calling from under a stainless steel worktable in the lab, huddled under it with two of his assistants. "We don't know what caused this earthquake or why it's happening or even how long it's going to last. Well, nobody actually knows how long earthquakes last. They start and they stop at their own volition, but that's beside the point right now. Get under your desk and wait it out. I don't want you getting hurt. And by the way, what time should I pick you up for our date tonight? We both may be running a little late because of this."

Well, if Carlos was telling him to take cover, then he'd definitely take cover. "Of course, I totally understand," he said, slipping out of his chair and quickly kneeling on the floor. "As you know, I'm very into-" Just as he was speaking, the covering for the fluorescent light decided it had enough of the shaking and disturbances. One end of the long fixture dislodged, swinging and gaining momentum until it was finally stopped by a collision with Cecil Palmer's temple.

Cecil let out a strangled gasp as the combination of hard plastic and metal impacted with his head. He felt something wet sliding down the side of his face, but he couldn't make his arms move to wipe it away. The other side of his head struck something equally as hard, sending him toppling to the floor with absolutely zero control over his body. The phone slipped out of his hand, sliding under the desk he himself was just about to inhabit. His vision was hazy at best and wow, it was just so hard to stay awake and hey, the lights were out. Did that mean it was time for bed? The bed felt a lot harder than usual. Still, he felt exhausted and he could literally sleep anywhere, so he decided it didn't matter.

His eyes slid shut and his body relaxed, slumping into unconsciousness. All around him, the ground was still shaking and listeners, with themselves and their radios safely under tables and miscellaneous pieces of furniture, wondered where their Voice had gone.

And Carlos, poor, distressed Carlos, called for a man who could not answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author Fun Fact: I have archived about 360,000+ words in published fanfiction. NaNoWriMo I am ready for you.
> 
> Thanks for reading, commenting, kudos-ing, and whatever you do to show affection. Next chapter will hopefully be up tomorrow. Have a lovely day and always remember to tie your shoes.


	2. The Confusion Is Real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cecil wakes up and he's actually still in Night Vale. #plottwist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started in one place and wound up in another. I still have no clue how long this will be, but chapters will run in the 3,000-4,000 word range.

It felt like he was falling, plunging through an endless abyss, aimlessly flailing about like a cat with a piece of buttered toast on its stomach. Which, in retrospect, was indeed the normal waking ritual within Night Vale's city limits. But this sensation felt much harsher than Cecil was used to and to be honest, he felt like he was going to be sick. Also, his head was pounding and that wasn't helping anything.

Finally, his mind began to return to his body. There was something fluffy and warm near his face and for half a second, he thought he was in bed with Carlos and the whole earthquake had been just another government mandated city-wide nightmare. But the texture of the hair was off. Rather than being silky curls, this hair was simply soft fluff. And he was most definitely not in bed. Heck, he never slept on his stomach! Carlos was the one who slept on his stomach while Cecil slept on his back and it just kind of worked, you know? But he could feel a familiar coarse carpet under his arms and the pads of his headphones askew on his ears and, oh no, his glasses better not be broken. Glasses were expensive and even being somewhat of a local celebrity, he wasn't exempt from sales tax or frame pricing.

Cracking open an eye, his vision was filled with poof. Raising his head off the ground, he saw...a cat. It was a familiar-looking black cat with bright green eyes and eye-shaped markings scattered across its fur. As he slowly eased himself into a kneeling position, the cat walked towards him and rubbed against his knees. It pawed at him for attention and...was it  _purring?_

"...Khoshekh?" he asked, adjusting his glasses and pulling his headphones down to rest on his shoulders. "Khoshekh, is that you?"

The cat meowed in response and continued rubbing against whatever part of Cecil he could reach. As Cecil kind of gawked in shock, Khoshekh leapt onto the spinning chair behind Cecil and proceeded to perch himself on the man's shoulders. He purred contently, happily settling into his non-floating place in the universe. Without thinking, Cecil scratched under the cat's chin.

"Why are you not floating in the men's bathroom?" he finally asked, turning his head to look at the cat. "And where are your spine ridges and venom sacs? What happened to you?" His expression darkened. "I swear, if StrexCorp came back here and ran experiments on you, I will personally go to the Erikas, who do not exist, and tell them that they can go-"

"Mr. Palmer?" His head snapped up towards the source of the voice. It was Intern Riley, shyly poking their head through the door of the recording booth. He raised an eyebrow. Something was different about Intern Riley...

"Intern Riley?" The young teen's eyes widened. Why would that happen? Intern Riley wanted to be called Intern Riley, right? "Your hair...how did you manage to grow it out so fast? I highly doubt I've been here, at the station, for over two weeks and if I have, well, Carlos is going to be receiving a strongly worded voicemail of complaint. Or, just a strongly worded complaint." Cecil still wasn't used to the fact that his boyfriend was back. Every time he made that realization, it was either joyous or frustrating. He should remember things like this, important things.

"W-Why did you call me that?" the intern stammered, nervously playing with their now shoulder-length hair. They even had  _bangs._

"Well, isn't that what you want to be called?" he asked, tilting his head. "I mean, it is on your name tag and your Intern Blood Pact forms..."

"What?" they sputtered incredulously. "Never mind about the last part, that's not important. Mr. Palmer, if you could please call me by my birth name, that would make things a lot easier around here. I don't even know how you found out, but please don't tell anyone, not until I'm ready to face them."

Now that he was really looking at Intern Riley, he noticed that their name tag read... _Veronica._ Veronica? How was any of this happening?

"...Is this some elaborate prank all of the interns are playing on me?" Cecil asked skeptically. "Because, while the devotion and details are admirable, it's not very funny."

"Mr. Palmer," the intern hissed. "This is not a joke! Do you know what other people  _do_ to people like me? And you're the one who told me to wait until I got out of here! As it is, you have enemies and like you said, people here don't have their morals straight! I'm not ready, Mr. Palmer, and while I appreciate the push, you need to remember that we're different."

"What makes us so different?" The question was completely innocent. Cecil was still trying to wrap his mind around what Intern Riley was saying. They wanted to be called Riley but insisted on Veronica. And while both were good names, Riley obviously preferred one over the other. Why not just be called Riley and be happy? "We're both human, we both breathe and read and write and we have two legs, two arms, a face, a mouth, hair...we are of the same species. And while we have independent thoughts and act differently, that shouldn't matter when we're focusing on a general picture. We're all beings existing in the same time and place in the universe. Isn't that enough?"

"Not for a lot of people Mr. Palmer," they replied. "I wish the world worked like that, but it doesn't." Intern Riley (Veronica?) furiously wiped at their eyes before turning their back to Cecil. "I'm sorry Mr. Palmer, just...my shift's over now. I'm going home. Goodnight." Before Cecil could get another word in, the intern was gone. Khoshekh rubbed against his cheek, taking a moment to lick his skin as he did so. He brought a hand up to scratch the cat's ears, simply staring at the empty doorway of the recording booth.

"How long was I out?" Cecil asked. Now that he thought about it, his head felt completely fine. He felt completely fine. Bringing up a hand to his temple, he felt no blood or bruising. Glancing around the booth, he noticed that everything was in its proper place and that there was no sign of an earthquake ever occurring in Night Vale.

Finally, something very, very strange was happening to his little community.

Without another thought, Cecil stood up and headed towards the door...only to be jerked back a few paces. Turning, he sighed. Of course he'd forget to unhook the headphones from his equipment. He yanked on the audio jack and shoved the excess wire into his pocket. He'd just keep the headphones looped around his neck for now. Besides, Khoshekh was sitting on them and it was easier to take them. He'd bring them back in the morning anyways.

On the way out, he passed by Station Management's door. The growing sense of dread in his stomach had nothing to do with Station Management itself. Oh no. The door was wide open, the shades to the windows were up, and inside the office was a woman. Cecil knew this woman. He would never forget a face like that.

" _You,"_ he hissed, stalking towards the petite woman with a vengeance. "What are you doing in my station? What are you doing in Night Vale? Why are you here?" His fists were clenched, turning white from the pressure. The woman blinked at the sight of the enraged radio host and smiled.

"Hello Cecil!" she greeted enthusiastically and with a smile that was a little too wide. She was either oblivious to the host's anger or very good at ignoring negative emotions. "That was an excellent show you gave us today, simply wonderful! Of course, your running time was a little on the long side and you know, we do have other programs to fit in the schedule and there just aren't enough hours in the day, are there?"

"What are you doing here?" Cecil repeated through clenched teeth. Khoshekh was hissing now, the hair on his back standing on end and the look in his eye was about as murderous as his unofficial owner's. The woman looked a bit taken aback, but quickly regained her composure.

"Oh Cecil, you jokester you!" she laughed with a wave of her hand. "I'm Night Vale's station manager! I have been since StrexCorp established an office building here last year. Night Vale's radio waves have reached farther than ever before and your radio drama is one of our top rated shows! It's incredible what you do with words, although, there are some things I'd like you to change with your scripts, like toning the romance down and perhaps not saying anything more about StrexCorp. Of course, you already closed that story and you promised not to do anything more with it, so I guess we're on the same page here."

"Radio drama? What radio drama? I'm a reporter, I report on the news and traffic and the Community Calendar and the Children's Science Fun Fact Corner. It's not a story, it's real life!" Cecil argued. The woman laughed again, leaning back in her chair as she did so.

"Oh Cecil, you really are something else! You get so into character, it's wonderful! Why didn't you become an actor? You're very convincing," she commented. She pushed her hair behind her ears and looked at the organized papers on her desk. "Well Cecil, like I said, your show was great. Just remember to give your sponsors an extra thirty seconds and keep the romantic subplot to a minimum. StrexCorp is not in the position to make a political stand, you know."

"Sponsors get as much time as their scripts mandate," Cecil replied. "It's not a call I make and as a community radio station, they know this. They are responsible for giving me their material and then I record it." He didn't understand what was happening. That woman had definitely given him a dismissal, but seeing as his social skills weren't completely up to par, he decided to push his luck. After all, he was a reporter and he could navigate and manipulate a conversation to his will. "And I thought StrexCorp...prided itself on being for everyone?"

"Cecil, you're in charge of your scripts. None of the local chains can exactly capture your use of language, so you always rewrite the sponsors and as a supporter of business and maximum productivity, StrexCorp advocates for said businesses and that means writing longer sponsors," she said with a clipped tone. He'd crossed a line and they both knew it. "You can drop the act around me Cecil, I understand. You always get into this headspace of your fictional Night Vale and it is very interesting but sometimes, we need someone to bring us back to Earth, you know? Now, I'll give you the next list of sponsors so you can prepare for your next show." She reached for a thin packet of papers and handed them to Cecil. Without knowing what else to do, Cecil accepted the stack. "Goodnight Cecil, I'll see you on Monday. Oh, and Cecil? Please, no pets at the station. I understand that this was a special occasion with your Khoshekh storyline, but you don't bring a cat to work in an office environment! Ok? Ok, goodbye Cecil!"

"Goodbye...Lauren," he added hastily to his farewell. Khoshekh let out a half-hiss, half-meow as Cecil exited the room and walked out the station doors. His mind was reeling, questions bouncing around unanswered and, dare he say, unfulfilled. As soon as he stepped outside, he was greeted with, not the Void, but a multicolored sky filled with pink, orange, yellow, red, and purple hues.

Where was the Void? Why wasn't the sky simply taupe or magenta or turquoise? The sky never took on more than one color unless it was a coal dust day. Where was he? What had happened to Night Vale?

"Oh, Night Vale," he groaned, running a hand through his hair. "I do not understand the world I am in. I very much hope this is all just a nightmare. Oh Khoshekh, it wasn't just a story, it was our lives. This...this is not Night Vale, is it? You're not even floating in the men's bathroom! Thank goodness you're not hurt again, I don't know what I'd do if that happened again." He began walking towards his car (at least that was the same) and stopped in front of it. Lauren's words were floating through his head and now that the anger was being replaced by confusion and semi-rational thinking (as rational as Cecil could ever get), something clicked. If everything that happened in Night Vale was "fictional," which it wasn't, what about Carlos? Lauren mentioned something about a romantic subplot, so did that mean that he and Carlos were not a reality in this nightmare? His heart broke at the thought. If that was true, where was he supposed to go for the night? Was he supposed to go to their shared apartment or his old one? Where was Carlos? He should probably figure out that question first. With his mind set on finding his scientist, Cecil climbed into his car and started the engine.

As he started driving, Khoshekh jumped off his shoulders and onto the passenger seat. Cecil's heart was racing, although the sensation was far different than he was used to. His heart didn't feel like it was literally going to burst and explode out of his chest. Usually, if the emotion was so intense, a person's heart could indeed explode out of their chest. But this felt like a quickened heartbeat and a slight pounding against his ribcage. That familiar lingering sense of fear was absent and that in of itself was worrisome.

He deliberately ran a stop sign, his Aware Citizens Card tucked safely away in his wallet, and took the first right towards the science laboratories. Just as he was about to make the next turn, a siren filled the air. Out of the corner of his eye, Cecil could see the flashing lights of a police car. He pulled over quickly, knowing that the Sheriff's Secret Police would definitely do something worse than re-education to him if he didn't follow protocol exactly. Ugh, that one night he'd been speeding after he'd received his license? That was bad and he couldn't do anything more than cry for a week.

Unfortunately, the officer did not continue driving and pulled over right behind him. Cecil sighed and slammed his head back against the seat's headrest. Great, all he wanted to do was find Carlos and here he was, getting pulled over for a Stop Sign Immunity he already possessed for the year. This was just _wonderful_.

The officer knocked on the window and Cecil hit the button to lower it. "Yes, officer?" he asked. "Is there something wrong?"

"You ran the stop sign," they replied, not removing their helmet. Come to think of it, they were wearing a different uniform than the usual robe and Richard Nixon mask. "That is going to be a hefty fine."

"Oh officer, I assure you, I have my Alert Citizens' Card," Cecil soothed, reaching for his wallet in as placating a manner as possible. Behind the helmet, he couldn't possibly have noticed the officer's obvious confusion.

"Sir, I realize that is a 'thing' on your show, but it is not in real life," they informed, taking out a pad of paper in order to write up a fine.

"No, I have it, I swear!" But as he frantically looked through his wallet, the card was nowhere to be found. That wasn't possible. That couldn't be possible. The card existed! It really did! Everything was so strange today and the Void wasn't quite the Void he was used to and why wasn't anyone else as freaked out as him?

"Sorry sir, but the fine is $200." The officer handed him the form through the window. Would he be able to afford it? His job wasn't the most prosperous and that was a significant dent in his monthly budgeting. Of course, Carlos' income helped as well, but this wasn't something he wanted Carlos to get involved with. Then again, this action was so unlike the town that he knew so well, so maybe Carlos would know more about this than Cecil did. Without another protest, he accepted the fine and kept his head down.

"Will that be all, officer?" His voice was timid, so unlike its usual timbre. He just wanted things to make sense again and have Carlos tell him how any of this was possible...and how he didn't have a concussion the size of the Almighty Glow Cloud.

"I need to see your license." Under the helmet, the officer raised an eyebrow. "Unless, of course, you've committed another felony by operating a vehicle without it."

"No, of course not!" At least his license was there, although it looked a lot different than usual. Instead of a watermark of the City Council's seal, there was and entirely different one with an eagle with a shield over its body. That was very, very strange. Also, it wasn't shiny and it lacked that fuzzy shadow lurking behind his head on the license's picture of himself. The officer took down the number of the document and his name before handing it back to him.

"Since this is your first offense, this will be noted in your records. You may experience an increase in your insurance rates," the officer said. It didn't sound like they particularly cared and completely ignored Cecil's mix of annoyance and distress. "You are free to go, just don't run any more signs or speed." With a final wave, the officer was back in their cruiser and pulling away to some undisclosed location. Cecil simply stared blankly ahead before kicking himself into action and continuing his journey towards the labs. Khoshekh climbed on his lap, pawing slightly at his legs.

"I don't know what's going on either," Cecil explained to the feline. "First, you're in my booth and not floating in the bathroom and your spine ridges are gone. Then, Intern Riley asks to be called Veronica and acts far more nervous than usual. And then  _Lauren_ is once again at the station and somehow replaced Station Management again and now I get pulled over and I can't find my Alert Citizens' Card?!" He hit his steering wheel in frustration. "Ugh! Maybe Carlos can make sense of this. Talented, intelligent Carlos, he'll be able to tell me what's going on and why. It's probably very scientific and-" He froze mid-sentence, immediately parking the car and flinging the door open. Khoshekh fell, and landed, on the ground with an indignant meow, but Cecil couldn't bring himself to apologize for the sudden movement. He was far too preoccupied with the horror in front of him.

The building was completely destroyed and abandoned. It looked like it had burned down years ago and nobody had bothered to clean it up since. Some of the remaining walls had graffiti on them and while it was colorful and creative, the fact remained that no scientists were working there. Cecil dropped to his knees, trying desperately to keep the tears from falling, but failing. Where was his Carlos? Where were the scientists? He was gaining more questions than answers and the whole situation was driving him absolutely insane. He was relying on Carlos to give him the answers, to help him through this strange version of the town he loved. But Carlos was no where to be found. What was he supposed to do now? Who was he supposed to turn to for help?

He heard Khoshekh hiss, but didn't bother to turn towards the cat. So lost in his confusion and despair, Cecil didn't hear the footsteps coming until a hand rested on his shoulder. His body stiffened out of pure reflex and instinctual expectation to be knocked to the ground, but as the seconds passed, he managed to relax a little. The touch felt familiar but in his frazzled state of being, he couldn't quite place where he'd felt something like that before. A nagging suspicion in the back of his mind prevented him from looking up.

"Cecil, it's me," a calm voice spoke. He leaned into the touch, now knowing who was comforting him.

"Is this real?" he asked. "Was it all just a story I created to cope with this reality or is this reality a lie?"

"You know the answer Cecil," the voice replied. "You know more than you think."

"I assure you, I don't. You know that more than anyone."

"I also know your faults better than even yourself. Intelligence was never one of them. Although, I cannot say the same for self-preservation. Honestly Cecil, you need to work on that."

He chuckled, bringing a hand up to remove his glasses and using the other to rub the bridge of his nose. "I didn't know you could go outside of people's homes. You haven't as long as I've known you."

"I'm not supposed to." The voice was harsher this time, serrated by fear and an underlying sense of wrongness. "Night Vale has been tampered with and it is to nobody's benefit. For instance, I am not supposed to be walking around or be seen by any citizens' eyes and yet, here I am, not even secretly living in anyone's homes."

"...Are we the only ones who know the truth?"

"No one else has seen it fit to reveal themselves. But Cecil, you have always been a bit different, despite your adamancy for following the rules. When I saw you run that stop sign, I knew. I knew this was right. There are a lot of things we need to discuss, including your missing boyfriend." At her words, Cecil finally looked up.

For the first time in his life, he looked up into the nonexistent eyes of the Faceless Old Woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author Fun Fact: The next WtNV episode is titled "Homecoming." Jeffrey Cranor is already regretting this decision.
> 
> Sorry, I definitely kind of fell apart at the end. X3 And I'll add some more humor in, I promise, I just had to get the ball rolling.
> 
> Anyways, thanks for reading, subscribing, bookmarking, kudos-ing, commenting, and doing whatever else that shows affection. Have a wonderful day and remember to always salute with your right hand. The left hand is technically an insult.


	3. The Part With Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Faceless Old Woman and Cecil have a chat, Hooded Figures are seen, and there is atypical Night Vale weirdness...which means there is no weirdness to speak of aside from the weirdness of having no weirdness.
> 
> ...It makes sense if you (don't) think about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I'm working now and I have college apps to do. And I'm preparing for NaNoWriMo as well as the 30 Day November Hiatus Challenge. You should all do it. Please.

This was puzzling. It was all very, extremely puzzling.

To recap: Khoshekh was right next to him, walking around like gravity actually had any effect on him, and rubbing against his knees. The Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives In Your Home was most certainly  _not_  secretly living in  _anyone's_  home and he was actually looking at her. Moreover, if he stared long enough, he would see beautiful hazel eyes staring back into his plain lilac ones. He could make out a pointed, but not large, nose and slim lips and wrinkles that draped off of high, prominent cheekbones. He could see the stories in the eyes and he could get lost in those stories. It was like he was floating through time, ages upon ages trapped in the physical form of a woman who'd lived lives beyond her own. It was captivating and mysterious and he wanted to know  _more._

"Cecil," she snapped, bringing the radio host to full attention. The face that was not there quickly became no more. He blinked in confusion, the sight he'd previously witnessed quickly erasing itself from his mind. He didn't know whether it was due to Night Vale conditioning or the Faceless Old Woman herself, but either way, the image was gone.

"I'm sorry," he replied somewhat breathlessly. "I-I thought...you had a  _face._ " There was a pause and suddenly he was fumbling to correct himself. "I mean, it wasn't a bad face, not at all! It was beautiful...not to say that you're not beautiful! Like Hiram McDaniels said, you are beautiful when you do beautiful things and you, mostly, do beautiful things."

"Cecil?"

"Yes?"

"You are simply digging a deeper grave for yourself than is necessary."

He could practically feel the embarrassed blush spreading across his face. "Of course," he managed to reply, quickly rising to his feet. The height difference between them was somewhat surprising. Cecil was neither tall nor short, yet the Faceless Old Woman barely rose past his shoulder. He tried his best not to stare at her as Khoshekh pawed at his leg. Quickly bending over, he picked up his unofficial pet and simply held the feline in his arms. They stood together, in semi-awkward silence, just staring at the abandoned building.

Now that he was looking at it more carefully, nothing about it screamed "SCIENCE LAB HERE YOLO RIGHT???" Smashed bricks lay in heaps around the concrete foundation. There were gaping holes in the outer walls and, from the little he could see of the interior, it really looked like nothing more than a decimated warehouse. Scorch marks on the bricks suggested that the cause of its current state was due to a past inferno, but that was about all he could glean. There were no windows, very few possible entrances, and no proper ventilation.

"Was this ever a science lab to begin with?" he finally asked.

"As of this timeline, no." The Faceless Old Woman sighed, shaking her head slightly. "It used to be a StrexCorp warehouse, but something or someone was in the wrong place at the wrong time. There was a gas leak. A spark was all it took, as is the case with most things." A complete sense of wrongness began to unravel in the pit of Cecil's stomach. It was, of course, from ingrained Night Vale instincts and he couldn't help but eye the prickly shrub nearest to them.

"Aren't the Sheriff's Secret Police going to escort us off the premises?" he whispered, leaning down to communicate with the Faceless Old Woman more directly.

"There is no Secret Police here, Cecil," was her terse reply. "Only the police is to be found. There's a military base not far from here, so that is where the helicopters are from. None of them stop to bother with us and that is...unsettling. I do not know why this feeling exists within me, but it simply does."

The fact that the Faceless Old Woman was worried was definitely a warning sign. The absence of the Sheriff's Secret Police made him feel vulnerable and paranoid. What if non-municipally approved personnel were to abduct him sometime in the near future? Who else but Khoshekh would know of his disappearance? Without Carlos around (and that thought hurt him more than anything ever had before), nobody would question his absence until three to four days after the incident. Well, maybe  _Lauren_  would, but then again, StrexCorp actually had a decent sick day agreement for its employed slaves. The company was pretty germaphobic, something he used against Lauren for his own enjoyment in the past.

Scenarios of terrible, horrendous things flashed through his mind. The Sheriff's Secret Police, while a force to be feared and reckoned with, generally did a good job of keeping citizens out of trouble and really did protect their own. Rowdy Outsiders were swiftly taken care of, potential crimes of both large and small penalties were always stopped, and for law-abiding citizens, their personal officer was very helpful and friendly. He wondered what became of all those officers in this now incredibly strange town. Were they part of the police that existed now or did they have other professions?

He was shaken from his thoughts by a hand on his arm. Some unseen force kept him from turning to make eye contact with the Faceless Old Woman (probably for the better), but he didn't need to look in order to sense the urgency behind her strong, yet soothing, grip.

"You need to go," she said quickly, tugging Cecil's arm in the direction of his car. Obediently, or conditionally, he followed the pull only to stop a few feet away.

"What about you?" he asked, looking back at the silhouette of the woman.

"I will be completely fine," she reassured. "I still have some restrictive omniscience left. You are in far more danger than me." Before he could move another step, she continued. "Cecil, they know about us, about you. There is only so much I can tell you in this moment and it will take many more for me to explain what has happened. But heed my warning: do not question this reality. Obey its rules, don't attract attention, and more importantly, don't let them know you know this is not Night Vale. Hide yourself in their ways, but do not let them overcome you. What you remember is real. Everything around you, around us, is a temporary illusion.

"The home you shared with Carlos is not where you live now. Go back to your old apartment; everything is as you left it. Meet me tomorrow night outback the Ralph's. There is no pit, but there is a small tent city in the abandoned warehouse nearby. We will converse there with another one of us, perhaps two more if he is available."

"Who's 'them?'" Cecil asked, running a hand across Khoshekh's back. The action was mostly to soothe his nerves rather than elicit a purr from the cat. "And who else is left?"

"I cannot answer you Cecil, not right now," she replied. Her silhouette was becoming harder and harder to see as she slipped into the shadows she was so adept at traveling through. "Keep my words close to mind and do not doubt yourself. I know you have a terrible habit of doing that. Meet me tomorrow night, outback the Ralph's. Remember that. You'll know when to come, you always do."

"Wait! I still have questions!" he shouted to the darkness. This time, he received no response aside from a stray plastic bag rustling its way through a cool breeze. He remained frozen in place, mind reeling to put together the pieces.

This wasn't real. None of this was real. But...but it was. It was tangible and existing in the same slice of space and time he currently existed in. How was this not real? And what was that about trusting his memories? He couldn't trust his memory, not with the gaps between years that he so deftly ignored. No, the Faceless Old Woman had to be mistaken. She had to be.

Yet the Faceless Old Woman had never steered him wrong before. She was that somewhat creepy, yet familiar presence in the shadows of one's home, there to keep an extra eye on all of Night Vale's residents while never really having a home of her own. Her job was both lonesome and social. She never seemed to mind her existence and if Cecil wasn't mistaken, she had appeared troubled to not exist in that former state of existence, perhaps because it was the only existence she knew.

Ugh, existing made his brain hurt. This was why he was a reporter: reporters didn't have to think much. Thank goodness, because he really did not know a lot.

There was a shuffling noise by the wreckage that was once a building, making Khoshekh hiss at the sudden intrusion. Cecil decided it was best to heed the Faceless Old Woman's warning and quickly walked back to his car. Loitering at this time in Night Vale wasn't recommended, so who knew what else could be lurking in this strange reality? He wasn't taking any chances, not with a completely defenseless cat in his arms. Opening the door, he leaned across the driver's seat and let Khoshekh fall gently into the passenger's seat on the other side before climbing in himself. Inserting the key into the ignition, he frowned as he heard his car let out a metaphorical roar rather than a literal one.

As he turned onto the main road, he thought back on what the Faceless Old Woman had said. She told him to go back to his old apartment, the one he'd lived in alone since he came back from his visit to Europe. He'd lived in that flat most of his life and yet it didn't feel like home anymore. To be quite honest, in never really did feel like home. His show kept him busy and he almost always ate out because of work. The apartment was there so he had a place to sleep and make his first five cups of coffee. He hadn't exactly been a social butterfly, but he couldn't remember too many nights where he spent the evening in the apartment and binge watching TV shows or movie series.

No, his home was with Carlos in their shared apartment, where they'd eaten meals together and woke up to the sight of each other's face. It was the place where they'd watched countless movies on Netflix together, magnificent and terrible, and laughed and joked and cuddled and lived.

It was different when Carlos was trapped in the Other Desert Dimension. At least he'd still had the apartment and all of Carlos' possessions mixed in with his own, which made it both easier and harder to return there night after night. The empty space on the bed and the lack of commotion coming from the kitchen in the morning was always difficult to overcome, but he managed to do it simply by reminding himself that Carlos would, eventually, return and until then, he had a job to do. But this was so completely different because he didn't know where Carlos was, let alone if he existed, in this reality and he had to face it all alone. He would have to walk into his empty, sparsely decorated apartment, knowing that he was the sole occupant of the rented area. It was only himself, just like before.

A loud meow from the passenger seat snapped him out of his unpleasant thoughts. Sparing a glance at the cat, Cecil couldn't help but smile. Even in this universe of apparently zero magic or otherworldly abilities, Khoshekh still knew what he was thinking. Animals were, after all, very in tune with human nature.

"Of course I still have you," Cecil replied with a smile. He reached out to briefly scratch Khoshekh's head before returning his focus to the road. He had to be very careful, follow the new rules. Luckily for him, he had always picked them up fairly quickly. Now, following them when doing the show...that was another matter entirely. It was kind of his job to report on everything, illegal or not. Sometimes he got pardoned because hey, that was what he was supposed to do. Most of the time, he required re-education and that was never a particularly enjoyable experience.

Within a few minutes, he was pulling into the parking lot of the apartment complex. He parked his car in the appropriate space and removed his keys from the wheel, but he couldn't find it in himself to start the journey. He stared straight ahead, semi-dead to the world, dreading each step that he was about to take. For some reason, it felt like he was giving up on everything. There was everything with Intern Riley and then there was  _Lauren_ and the Faceless Old Woman no longer secretly lived in anyone's homes and Carlos was no where to be found. There was no science lab for rent, Khoshekh didn't float, the parking space didn't try to eat one of his hubcaps again, and the Sheriff's Secret Police simply never was to begin with.

Taking those steps to the apartment was him giving in. And as much as he didn't want to, he knew he had no other choice. He would have to survive this reality alone and somehow, retain his knowledge of the truth. Moreover, this was something he had to do alone. Well, not completely alone. The Faceless Old Woman had said something about other citizens knowing about the true Night Vale, but he didn't know who they were and probably for the better. If the Faceless Old Woman was concealing herself, then maybe it was dangerous to know the truth. Come to think of it, she did warn Cecil a fair amount during their meeting, like not letting anyone know that he knew the truth.

This was going to be a challenge.

And all of a sudden, things didn't feel so bad anymore. No, he wasn't going to give in. Giving in was not that walk to the empty apartment, it was depressively mulling about the walk to the empty apartment. It was lamenting about the situation and, due to being busy with lamenting, not doing anything to fix the situation.

The Night Vale he knew was real, he would just have to keep reminding himself of that. The current reality with all of its backwards rules and regulations was only temporary. The Faceless Old Woman had given him a spark of hope: things could be fixed. Night Vale could be returned to its former state of being and he, Cecil Gershwin Palmer, would spearhead that change. It made him nervous and excited all at once, reminding him of how he felt when the revolution against StrexCorp actually did happen. But unlike that experience, this private revolution would only emerge once. He was going to be the catalyst of change. He could do this.

Gently picking up Khoshekh once again, Cecil made his way to the apartment. It took him a few minutes to remember the old number (he automatically ascended three flights of stairs before realizing he used to live on the second floor), but he eventually found his way to the correct door. Inserting the correct key proved to be yet another challenge because really, he had about five keys for the station's locks and a mail key along with the ones for the car, not to mention that he had a cat in his arms. But he eventually managed to open the door while juggling Khoshekh in one arm and his keys and the door with the other.

As they entered, something caught Cecil's eye. Flicking on a light, he noticed a notepad lying on the coffee table. But the notepad wasn't what had him mystified. No, that courtesy belonged to the item sitting beside it.

There was a  _pen_ and by some heavenly intervention, he was still walking free.

He vaguely remembered Carlos ranting about some of Night Vale's laws, especially the ban on writing utensils. So maybe, in this reality, pens were legal? Could he really use a pen?

With shaking fingers, he picked up the instrument. It felt cool to the touch. It was sleek and a bit heavier than his hand was used to. He tried running the tip over a finger, but nothing came out. Frowning, he surveyed it from all sides. Up, down, side-to-side, he observed the object and committed it to memory. As his fingers roamed its surface, they came across a strange part at one of its ends. Furrowing his brow, he delicately pressed down on it. It appeared to be a button and said button was showing resistance.

Nervously, he applied more pressure and then suddenly, there was a loud "Click!" With a startled yelp, Cecil dropped the pen and flinched. Upon realizing that nothing horrible or demonic was happening to him, he allowed himself to relax and gingerly picked up the utensil once again. This time, there are a sharp (but not too sharp) point at the other end. Carefully, he pressed it down on his skin and out came a black line. He looked around in fear, expecting one of the Sheriff's Secret Police officers to jump out of the coat closet and punish him for use of a banned object. But then he remembered that the SSP didn't exist here and that maybe, he could actually use a pen without penalty.

Hurriedly, he flipped open the notebook. Sure enough, his curved handwriting decorated the pages. Skimming the words, he noticed that they were all notes for his shows. Every section was dated and the dates ended with the current day. He'd just completed a show, which brought him a moment of relief. That meant he wouldn't have to worry about the next one for a few days, more than enough time to sort everything out.

Wait...what was he sorting out again? Was it work related? Did he...did he forget something?

As he thought, he rested the pen against his lower lip. Wait, he was holding a pen. Oh no, he was so getting arrested for thi-

No, he'd already been through that panic. Right, the Sheriff's Secret Police didn't exist because this Night Vale was just plain  _weird._ And he totally forgot about it. That wasn't good.

Without missing another beat, Cecil flipped to a blank page and started writing. He wrote about his shows, wrote about Carlos, wrote about the Night Vale he remembered. He wrote things that were considered illegal, things that were totally legal, and things that he shouldn't know but did. He mentioned the Faceless Old Woman and Hiram McDaniels and Pamela Winchell. He included the Other Desert Dimension and Dana and Intern Maureen.

Everything he could possibly think of was written down in the notebook. He tore through page after page, determined to get it all down before his memory failed him again. He even included the old cassette tapes he had found and the auction he barely remembered losing. By the time he was done, sunlight was starting to peak through the windows of the apartment. The ferocity of his writing began to slow and as he wrote the final word, he all but collapsed back into the cushions of the couch. He closed his eyes and fell asleep almost instantly with Khoshekh curled up in a fluffy little call next to him.

The pen and the notebook lay forgotten on his lap and as the sun continued its ascent into the new day's sky, it illuminated the final word.

_Remember._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author Fun Fact: So there's this super secret project I was working on a while back. Turns out, the super secret project became a go. If you want more information about said project, message me on Tumblr or something and I will gladly share the details in full. Just...not here. It is not the place.
> 
> Thank you for reading, kudos-ing, commenting, and doing whatever it is to show affection. Have a magnificent day and always remember to look right, left, and right again when crossing the street in the U.S. of A. See ya!


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